


Thread A Needle With My Hair

by lookninjas



Series: Children's Work [5]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, End-of-the-World Theology, Fasting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Militia Movement, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Religious Abuse, Religious Content, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:45:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7538545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one is coming to save them.  It's just Hux and Ben, and Hux will do whatever he has to to get Ben away from Snoke.  He'll deal with the guilt later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thread A Needle With My Hair

It starts like this: Ben is shivering in his sleep. 

It has to be at least eighty-five degrees in their room, humid as anything, and Hux is pouring so much sweat he feels as though he’s laying in a puddle but Ben is shivering, because it’s been at least two days since he’s eaten anything at all. He’s barely even drinking water at this point. And Hux should be furious with him for this; Hux should hate him. For the first twenty-four hours of Ben’s ridiculous fast, Hux  _ did _ hate him.

And then Ben kept going, kept not eating, and Hux isn’t furious anymore.

Now he’s just… 

Well. Afraid.

It’s strange how it’s only just now starting to really hit him: this has gone too far. All of it -- the compound, the men, the guns, the meetings, Ben. Coming back to their room bruised and battered after his so-called “sparring practice,” leaving Hux to press ice packs to his ribs and wipe the blood from underneath his ridiculous nose and keep him from sleeping because God knows he’s concussed himself again. Or going up to that attic with Snoke, coming down sweat-drenched and shivering and paper-white, refusing to talk. Meetings at night, Ben in his chair at Snoke’s side, staring at the floor with his feet twisted around each other. Ben sneering at him, scowling at him,  _ hating  _ him. Going so far inside himself that Hux can’t work out how to reach him. Hell, he doesn’t even talk to Rey anymore.

And Hux’s been going along with it -- why? Because Snoke is a teacher? Because Snoke is his father’s friend? He thought, surely, if his father knew -- But if it isn’t Hux, would his father even care? Ben is less than nothing to him, the son of his enemy.  _ It doesn’t do to be soft in these things, Hux _ , his father would say.  _ There’s no place for sentimentality in politics _ .

But he wouldn’t -- Ben is  _ fifteen _ , surely his father wouldn’t --

Would he?

_ Snoke’s always been a good friend to me, _ his father said.  _ No doubt he’ll be a good friend to you, in time. _

Hux sits up, pulls his knees up to his chest, wraps his arms around them. Feels rather as though he’s about to start shivering himself.

Someone should’ve found them by now, that’s the thing. They’ve been gone months; someone should’ve found them. Hux’s parents aren’t looking for him, of course. He never thought for a second they would. Never thought for a second they needed to, that they didn’t already know--

But Leia Organa should be looking for her son. Han Solo should be looking for his son. There’s no reason one of them can’t have found them by now. 

Unless.

His father knows every damn cop in Lenawee and Jackson counties; of that Hux is positive. If he wanted them found, they’d be found. But if he doesn’t --

“He wouldn’t though,” Hux says, staring at Ben’s trembling figure on the bed. “He wouldn’t.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, and suddenly Hux can’t bear it anymore. That shivering, silent figure on the bed. And didn’t Hux get him into this, in the end? Wasn’t Hux the one who brought him to Snoke, that first time? Encouraged him to go back, learn more about his grandfather, learn more about himself? Isn’t this, in its way, as much Hux’s fault as anyone else’s?

Doesn’t that make it his job to stop it before it’s too late?

_ There’s nothing you can’t do, is there? _ Snoke told him that, back in the early days. Back before Ben.  _ I thought your father had the strongest will of anyone I know, but you, Hux -- You are going to be a genuinely unstoppable force, one of these days. _

It starts now. Here, in this room. He will stop Ben shivering. Then he will make Ben break his fast. Then, after that, he’ll…

He’ll worry about that when he gets there. First things first. 

He stands up, pads across the room, and slips underneath Ben’s sheet. He presses himself against Ben’s back, rests one hand over his sternum (hard, bony, little flesh for padding), and does his best to find a home for the other somewhere underneath the pillow. It isn’t easy -- he’s never done anything like this before, and has no idea where to begin. But he manages to wriggle into a more-or-less comfortable position.

Or, at least, as comfortable as he can be pressed up to someone else’s body, suddenly shockingly aware of just how much  _ skin _ he has. And then there’s Ben’s skin to think about, too hot and sticky with sweat. The idea of needing to warm him up somehow, human furnace that he is, seems laughable.

But he’s still shivering, so Hux presses closer, wraps him up tighter, and even stretches one leg over Ben’s for good measure. If nothing else, his own bed will be cool by comparison, if he ever gets back to it.

Then Ben stirs. “Hux?” he asks, foggy, still more than half asleep. 

It takes everything Hux has not to tense up. Ben doesn’t like him very much these days (Snoke’s machinations, of course, and Hux has been telling himself over and over that if Ben’s stupid enough to fall for it, then it’s his own fault and Hux doesn’t care. Whether he believes that is another thing entirely.) Ordinarily, if Hux so much in breathed in Ben’s direction, he’d snarl for days. But he’s not fighting now, and even if he was, Hux can’t gratify him with a defensive response. The key, as always, is to pretend what he’s doing is totally normal. “Sssh,” he says, breathing it into the collar of Ben’s shirt. “Go back to sleep.”

Ben, typically, does not listen. “You’re in my bed,” he mumbles. “Why’re you --”

“Because you were cold,” Hux reminds him, although he has no idea if Ben even felt it in his sleep, the way his body trembled. But he isn’t shaking so badly now. In fact, he’s downright soft. Like his whole body is melting into Hux’s.

It’s working. It’s honestly working.

“You were cold?” 

For some reason, the distorted echo of it makes Hux want to smile. Or maybe it’s just that strange, dim feeling of success. Of accomplishing something after so long spent lying passive. He’s been letting things happen to them for too long. It feels good to act. “No, Ben,” he says. “You were cold. You were shivering. I’m going to stay until you’re warm again.”

Ben is so soft and so quiet for so long that Hux almost thinks he’s asleep again. Then, he hears, “Oh,” very softly. And, “All right.” 

And Ben’s hand comes to settle over his, skin too hot, palm too sweaty. Like he’s literally burning himself out. Like there’ll be nothing but ashes by the time he’s through. Self-immolation, the most pointless and wasteful of all deaths. He could be so much more. Hux can’t pretend he saw it from the start, but he picked up on it early enough. Ben has potential. Ben could do so much, be so much.

No. No. He will. He must. Hux will find a way. It starts here, in this moment. With Ben soft and quiet and peaceful in his arms, and Hux warming him, fixing him. He will stop Ben’s protracted suicide mission; he will bring him back. He will save him.

And nobody, not Snoke, not even Brendol Hux himself, is going to stop him.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he promises, breath stirring Ben’s dark hair. “I’m going to get you out of here and I’m going to get you away from Snoke, and I’m going to save you. I promise.”

Ben doesn’t answer; he is already asleep again. His hand stays on top of Hux’s, though; his body lax and peaceful, no more shivering. It’s the smallest of cracks, but Hux will widen it. Break through and let the light in again.

“I promise,” he says again, and lets his own eyes drift shut. He knows, instinctively, not to let Ben find him here in the morning. But he can rest here a while, until Ben is warmed through. Give him comfort for a little while.

And tomorrow, he’ll think. And plan. And find a way to get Ben out.

  
  


*

  
  


It’s easier the second time, or maybe he’s just more desperate. 

Ben still hasn’t eaten; he let Hux give him a glass of water after he finally came down from the attic, drenched in sweat and eyes dark-ringed, hair tousled and face stunned, hopeless, lost. Hux had been waiting in their room for him, long enough that the water was warm, but Ben drank it down immediately. He even looked a little grateful for the attention, the care. There had always been such gratitude in him in those early days. A scared, skinny freshman, almost a full year younger than the rest of his class, and then Hux singled him out (on Snoke’s orders, of course) and Ben was so grateful. So absurdly grateful.

“Are you going to eat dinner tonight?” Hux asked, greatly daring, and Ben didn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Maybe,” he said, and it was no. Of course it was no. It took everything Hux had to keep his disappointment safely under wraps “I have to… I have to meditate. I have to… But maybe after.”

After never came. Ben didn’t emerge from their room until Meeting. He sat in his chair by Snoke’s pulpit, feet twisted together, hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white

He was shivering

Hux barely heard what Snoke had to say. Something about Armageddon, probably. It’s been the running theme for at least two weeks now. He did catch a bit about Waco, something that made Ben’s head snap up, searching the crowd. Hux glanced over his shoulder, spotted Rey in the back, pinned between her parents, looking forlorn.

When he looked up at Ben again, Ben’s eyes were on him. Only for a moment, and then it was back to staring at the floor as Snoke thundered on about how the First Order would stand, unbreakable. Iron-willed.

After, Ben went wandering. Looking for Gethsemane, probably, or at least as close a substitute as Cement City could provide. Hux didn’t try to follow him. He didn’t hunt him all the way to the field or the swamp or the firing range and press him to talk. Instead he went to bed, laid down, waited. He’s always been a decent enough actor. He let his body drape loosely, let his breathing slow, kept his eyes closed even though his back was turned to the door and it was unlikely Ben would let himself get close enough to check Hux’s eyelashes for signs of fluttering. Ben was, after all, awake. And awake, he’s still Snoke’s.

But he was Hux’s last night, half-asleep. 

He could be Hux’s again, maybe. 

He waited, didn’t let himself tense up even though his mind was racing. Kept still, lax, peaceful. Finally, he heard the door open. Ben’s footsteps, so familiar. Strange to realize how long they’ve been sharing this room together. Long enough for Hux to recognize the exhaustion in Ben’s footsteps, in the way his belt buckle jingled as his trousers hit the floor and he kicked them to the corner rather than folding them neatly, the way he used to. In the creak of the mattress as Ben settled down on it. He knew Ben was sitting, not laying down; he could almost feel Ben’s eyes on him. 

If he stirred, if he rolled over, would it provoke Ben into speech? Or would he panic and throw himself down in his own bed, hiding?

In the end, Hux did nothing but silently will Ben to speak, to wake him, to  _ talk _ to him. It was exactly as useless as one might suspect.

After a good ten minutes of silent staring, Ben finally laid down. He rolled about, mattress springs creaking underneath him, trying to get comfortable. At last he fell still. His breathing slowed. He settled.

Hux waited a little longer. Then, carefully, so very very carefully, he sat up. Looked at Ben. 

Ben was shivering, sheets pulled up to his chin, dead to the world.

Hux almost fell over in his haste to clamber into Ben’s bed and wrap himself around him. 

There’s nothing erotic about it, their sweaty, bony, knobby-kneed legs tangled up, Ben’s sharp ankle pressed to his calf. Hux doesn’t feel anything about the curve of Ben’s backside pressed up to his crotch; he doesn’t care about the scent of Ben’s hair or the dip of his waist. What satisfaction he has comes down to this -- Ben relaxes. He stops shivering. He melts into Hux’s arms like he still trusts him, like there is a part of him that still wants to be Hux’s friend. Maybe even wants more, the way he used to when they first met. Hux never reciprocated -- some days he wonders if he even knows how -- but to have that connection available, to have some way of reaching Ben, pulling him out of Snoke’s reach -- 

Unexpectedly, Ben bursts into tears.

“Ben,” Hux says, and doesn’t know what to do. Ben hitches and shudders and sobs in his arms and Hux just holds on to him because he doesn’t know what to do. “Ben,” he says again.

“I can’t.” Ben is pushing his face into the pillow; it’s barely audible. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t --”

“Can’t what?” Hux asks, but Ben isn’t talking to him. He’s somewhere else, lost in his head, with someone who doesn’t care.

Hux, of course, should not care. He shouldn’t care at all.

“Ben,” he says again, and wonders why anyone ever thought  _ caring _ was a good idea to begin with.

“Please. Please, please. I can’t. I can’t.”

_ Take this cup away from me, O Lord. _

It’s something Ben would think. Ben with his Messiah complex, the one Snoke talked him into, of course. Melodramatic and ridiculous.

But not, perhaps, wrong.

Crucifixion, immolation -- not that different, really. Both martyr’s deaths.

Hux isn’t doing enough to stop him. He’s doing something, maybe. But it’s not enough. He needs to do something that’s  _ enough _ .

But he doesn’t know what it is, not yet, so he takes refuge in words.

“You won’t have to,” he murmurs, tipping his forehead into the sweaty skin at the base of Ben’s neck, talking directly into the collar of his t-shirt. He doesn’t know if he sounds certain or not. He hopes so. Ben needs him to sound certain. “You won’t have to. I’ll fix it, Ben. I’ll make it so you don’t have to. I promise. I’ll stop this. I will. You won’t have to. Whatever it is, you won’t have to.”

Ben keeps crying. 

For a moment, just for a moment, Hux wishes for someone to come and stop this. A grownup -- he needs a grownup. Leia Organa or Han Solo or even his own mother. Someone. Anyone. Because he can’t figure it out, he can’t fix it, he can’t --

“I can’t,” Ben says again. 

Not “ _ You _ can’t,” that’s not what he says, even if for a split second that’s what Hux hears. He doesn’t say that. He can’t hear Hux at all. He is dreaming, lost, telling someone (telling Snoke, because who else would it be?) that he can’t do whatever it is Snoke has ordered him to do. “I can’t.” Not “ _ You _ can’t.”

“I can,” Hux says, anyway. Even if it’s just to himself. “I can and I will. You’ll see.”

Because the grownups aren’t coming. Anyway, Hux is eighteen. Adult in the eyes of the law. Certainly older than Ben. He is all the grownup they need.

He is enough. 

He’ll figure it out. He is brilliant and persuasive and ruthless and his will is iron. That is enough. He is enough. 

He holds Ben until he’s still and quiet and soft again. 

It’s not as satisfying, though. Not this time. It’s not enough.

He’s going to have to do more.

  
  


*

  
  


“I broke my fast,” Ben says.

Hux says nothing. He stays on his side, feigning sleep, even though his heart is beating rabbit-fast in his chest. He overplayed his hand this afternoon. He knew it. Climbing on the bed, disturbing Ben’s meditation, reaching out so desperately --

And because he couldn’t just quit after that, he ran to Snoke, the way he’d hoped he’d never have to. He didn’t beg, at least. He didn’t grovel, like Ben might. He was his father at his absolute worst -- scathing, scornful. He must’ve used the word  _ pathetic _ at least four times. And Snoke lapped up the whole performance, even as he pretended not to, and now Hux has what he wanted. Ben has broken his fast. 

It feels like the most colossal failure, even though Hux isn’t entirely sure why. 

Then Ben says, “Leader Snoke has ordered me to take my meals with him from now on,” and Hux’s entire body goes cold.

No. No. This is worse than failure. This is… He doesn’t know what this is. But what’s happening to Ben, what he’s becoming -- That’s all Snoke. Every last bit of it. 

And Hux just gave Snoke an  _ excuse. _

“-- important work, to babysit me.” It’s funny how the loathing doesn’t really twist in until that last word. How Ben saves the lion’s share of the blame for himself. “Since I’m obviously not strong enough to --”

Hux lays still. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t leap up and throw himself at Ben, begging forgiveness. Begging him to stop. Begging him to just  _ look at me like you used to, why can’t you just _ \--

“I hope you’re happy,” Ben finishes. “God knows I’m not.”

There’s a long silence. Ben does not lay down on his bed. He sits, staring, watching Hux. 

“It should’ve been you,” he says, softly. It isn’t bitterness; it’s… jealousy, of a kind. Or admiration, maybe. Something like that. “I can’t… I’m weak, Hux. I try so hard, but. I’m not strong enough. You would be strong enough. I can’t. Too weak.”

He says it so calmly. Hux tries to find some core of rage in himself -- if not directed at Ben, then Snoke, or his father, or Ben’s father, or  _ anyone _ \-- but he can’t. 

“But this is what God wants,” Ben adds. Not even to Hux this time. To himself. “And if God wants this -- I have to. I have to.”

A much longer silence this time. Hux doesn’t roll over, doesn’t look. He doesn’t dare. He lays still and feigns sleep and waits. There is one thing he is doing right. There is one place left where Snoke has no foothold. But not yet. Not yet.

Finally, after what feels like an hour, Ben lays down. 

It takes longer than that for Hux to finally feel comfortable rolling over, opening his eyes. 

Ben is laying on his side, facing Hux’s bed. One hand outstretched, as if reaching for comfort. As if a part of him remembers Hux’s body wrapped around his, warming him, soothing him. As if he’s begging Hux to come back and do it again.

This time, Hux hesitates. It could be a trick, a trap. A way to get back in Snoke’s good graces after his failure with the fast. Maybe Ben’s not asleep. Maybe he’s just acting.

Except Ben is a bad actor, a terrible liar, and not clever enough to trick anyone but himself. And the only thing holding Hux back is his fear that he’ll fail again, like he did with this afternoon’s attempt at intervention.

And fear is never a good reason to hold back anything.

He stands, pads carefully around to the other side of Ben’s bed, and climbs in behind him, settling easily into the by-now-familiar position. His hand rests on Ben’s bony sternum; Ben’s arm pulls back instinctively, hand closing over Hux’s. There’s no shivering this time, no tears. It’s surprisingly peaceful. 

It won’t last, though. That’s the problem. It won’t last and Hux can’t make it last. He needs something more than this, more than a bit of a cuddle while Ren is sleeping too deeply to throw him off. He needs to brand him, somehow. A mark of his own, to counter Snoke’s filthy fingerprints all over Ben’s strange, holy heart. Something Ben will carry with him even into that damn attic. That he can’t forget so easily.

Ben shifts in his sleep. Hux’s hand skids on his sweat-slick chest, an unintentional caress, and Ben shifts again. His hips push back a little. His lips part. 

For ten very long seconds, Hux has absolutely no idea what is going on.

Then Ben’s hips wriggle again and Hux’s face goes hot and he realizes -- oh. This is a  _ sex _ thing. It makes sense, once he starts to think about it. Hux’s body is pressed up against Ben’s, like it has been the last two nights, and Hux knows he has the type of body Ben likes. Ben’s tried to hide it, which is a bit sad but understandable, but Ben has never been good at hiding much of anything. And now, of course, he’s in no position to hide anything at all.

Curious, Hux lets his hand drift down -- not all the way, just down to Ben’s stomach, pressing in a little. Ben’s hips work again. He makes a soft noise deep in his throat.

Hux should pull away. Let go and forget he saw any of this. Go back to his own bed. 

But he can’t. 

This isn’t militia summer camp. Their parents aren’t coming. It’s just Hux and Ben, and Ben is dying. Snoke is sucking the life out of him like a vampire, feasting on him, and now he’s got him three times a day, plus their meditation sessions in the attic, plus -- And all Hux has is this time, a few hours in the night when Ben forgets that they’re supposed to hate each other now. When he’s still that ungainly kid with a crush on an older student who occasionally manages to be kind to him. It’s not enough but it’s all Hux has. He can’t give it up. He has to --

He has to do something. Something that’ll leave a mark.

He shoves his hand into Ben’s boxers, finds his penis (half-hard, hot in his hand, the skin of it smooth and soft), and starts stroking. 

It’s all over in about a minute. Ben goes rigid, in more ways than one. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, starts panting a bit. His hips rock back into Hux’s, shift forward again, like he can’t decide if it’s too much or not enough. Then with a sharp exhale he comes, hot and sticky, all over his boxers and Hux’s hand.

Hux would almost be flattered by the speed of it, but he’s pretty sure Ben hasn’t touched himself since they came to the First Order Compound. Maybe longer than that. No doubt God wouldn’t approve. He almost feels guilty for that, for defiling Ben like that. But God will forgive Ben, probably, and if He doesn’t forgive Hux it doesn’t matter. Hux doesn’t need forgiveness. He just needs Ben to be okay.

Hux wipes his hand off on Ben’s thigh, lets it drift up to his hipbone, rubbing circles into his skin. He waits.

Another breath or two, and Ben finally stirs. “Hux?” he asks, voice thick with sleep.

Ben could hate him for this, of course. Or he could not. Hux has no idea what to do to rig the odds in his favor, so he doesn’t bother trying. “Go back to sleep, Ben,” he says, and keeps his hand on Ben’s hip, his body curled around Ben’s. 

“That’s not my name.” Autopilot, mostly. He sounds a little more awake than usual, maybe, but he’s still not fighting. “What’re you --”

“You were cold,” Hux lies. “You were shivering. I was… I worried. About you.”

“You shouldn’t.” It’s almost clear, his voice. “I’m fine. Broke my fast.”

“I know,” Hux says. “You told me already.”

“Oh.” Then Ben’s breath hitches, hiccups. He sniffles. He’s about to --

Hux does not panic, even when Ben starts crying in earnest. He does not let himself panic. He slips his hand out of Ben’s boxers to rest it over his heart again, and tries to remind himself -- it’s the fasting. Ben and his fasts. He likes the deprivation, testing his will. Proving his strength. He thinks he needs them. Now he’s been made to stop and he feels like a failure. It makes sense, in a Ben way. So he’s crying over that. Not Hux. It’s nothing to do with Hux. 

He ignores the fear, and he ignores, too, the relief he feels when Ben’s hand folds over his, like he thinks Hux is actually about to pull away. Like he’s afraid of it. Like he needs Hux to stay.

“It’s all right,” Hux murmurs. He holds Ben tight against him, feels the shuddering sobs course through him. “It’s all right, Ben. It’s going to be all right. I’ll take care of you. I promise. It’ll be all right.”

“I’m scared, Hux.” He whispers the confession into his pillow, but it doesn’t matter. Hux knows. Hux has known for a while now.

He wonders what Ben is telling himself right now, what he’s pretending. That he’s asleep, probably. That this is a dream, that it isn’t really happening. He wouldn’t have admitted to his fears otherwise.

But he’s pretending; he’s lying to himself. Because he needs Hux that badly.

For the first time in a long time, Hux feels something a little like hope. He can do this. 

“I know,” he says. Might as well admit it, just this once. “But it’s going to be all right. I’m going to get you out of here. I’ll find a way. I’ll get you out of this. You just need to trust me, just a little.”

Ben sniffles, clings to his hand. “I’m not supposed to,” he says. 

“But you do anyway,” Hux says, barely keeping the elation from his voice. Because it’s true. It’s true. Ben wouldn’t have said it like that otherwise. Ben still trusts him. Snoke hasn’t carved it out of him yet and that means Hux still has a chance. “You trust me. Because you know I’m just trying to protect you. You don’t want me to -- I get that. I do. You don’t like it, being protected. But I think you’re starting to figure out that you  _ need _ it. That you need someone to stop you before you can’t turn back. And that’s going to be me, Ben. That’s why I’m here. I’m going to protect you, and I’m going to take care of you, and I’m going to stop you from doing whatever it is you’re so scared of. I promise.”

“What if it’s already too late?” Ben asks, voice very soft and very small. 

“It’s not.” Hux won’t let it be. He can feel the plan forming in his mind, how he’s going to do it. Work on Snoke during the day -- find out what he wants Ben to do, what Ben would rather die than do -- then Ben at night, gentling him, coaxing him to let Hux take over. 

_ It should’ve been you. You would be strong enough. _

Hux won’t do a damn thing for Snoke, of course, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Ben believes he will. That he can leave without anything falling apart, because Hux has everything in hand. 

It means Hux staying behind, of course. It means he’ll have to make his own way out. But he’s not worried; he’ll figure it out when he gets there.

If he can pull this part off, he thinks he’ll be able to do pretty much anything.

“Trust me,” he says again, and pulls Ben as close as he can, feels him exhausted and pliant in his arms. “You just need to trust me, just a little. And I’ll figure everything out. You’ll see. You’ll see.”

Ben mumbles something else into his pillow, already half-asleep again. Hux has no idea what he’s said, but it probably doesn’t matter.

“I promise,” he says, and stays wrapped around Ben for a long time.

  
  


*

  
  


Ben takes longer to wake up the next night. There’s almost a laziness to him like this, something Hux has never seen in him before. Ben is always uptight, always on edge, almost as much as Hux is. To see this kind of looseness in him is obscurely pleasing. It softens the edge of the guilt Hux has been carrying all day. Knowing what he did. Knowing he was going to do it again.

He reminds himself, for the hundredth time, that it’s working. Every time he saw Ben today, Ben was looking at him. Longing. Guilty. Confused. Wondering. He’d drop his head as soon as he noticed he was being watched, of course, but it was always too late. Hux could read him like a book, even in those split-second encounters. He knew right away what he was seeing.

Ben remembered. He could tell himself it was a dream all he wanted -- and Hux knows damn well that’s what Ben’s doing, pretending that it was all a dream -- but it still stuck with him like the mess in his boxers. He remembered, and he  _ wanted _ . He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop.

It should’ve felt like a kind of triumph but it didn’t, really. And every time Ben dropped his eyes and turned away, ears red and shoulders sagging, the guilt got worse. Hux even thought about stopping. Trying to find another way. Something that wouldn’t leave Ben so defeated.

But then Snoke called Hux into his office -- asking about Ben, what he’d been saying, if he was acting differently since his fast broke. And Hux gave him a well-prepared list of half-truths and careful misdirection -- that Ben was frightened, that he wasn’t sure he could do what Snoke needed, that he’d even said outright that Hux should be the one to take it over from him, that Hux was stronger. 

“And he’s right, you know,” Hux said. “It’s not his fault. But his parents were soft. They raised a soft son. I was raised differently, as I’m sure you’re well aware. My father… He didn’t believe in sentimentality. He knew when a certain ruthlessness was called for. I like to think I follow in his footsteps.”

And Snoke had smiled, and told him, “Perhaps you do, at that,” and dismissed him, claiming he needed to pray on it a little longer.

And Hux knew, walking away, that he hadn’t really lied about anything. That he could be ruthless. That he  _ would  _ be, as long as he felt he had to. He had the will to move mountains. Shifting his own guilt to the side would be easy enough.

So he wrapped himself around Ben as soon as Ben was asleep, barely even had himself settled before he was reaching into Ben’s boxer shorts again. It took longer this time, maybe because Hux started so quickly or maybe just because Ben wasn’t so pent-up, because he’d already had a little taste of release. But it didn’t take that long, really. Just longer. Long enough for Hux to wonder if he should do something more than just tugging at Ben’s dick, waiting for something to happen. He had another hand. He could touch his chest, or his stomach. Kiss his shoulders, maybe, or his neck. His ears.

But then Ben shuddered and came, so Hux decided not to worry about it.

And now Ben is lazy, soft, sleepy. Content, maybe. By the time he’s finally started to stir, Hux has pulled his hand out of Ben’s boxer shorts, rested it back on his chest again. It’s still a little sticky, but Ben doesn’t seem to mind. He pushes back against Hux’s chest, rests his hand over Hux’s hand. He’s so open. Isn’t even trying to hide how much he’s enjoying this. 

Hux feels a pang of guilt again, even though he’s not sure why. It’s just -- This isn’t fair. Ben’s first time shouldn’t be like this. Not here. Not with Hux. It’s sentimental, maybe, but Ben is sentimental. He should have someone like that, someone like him. 

But he can’t. And he won’t, unless Hux gets him out of here. That’s what Hux has to remember. Everything he’s doing is to get Ben free of Snoke’s influence, back out into the world. Home, maybe, or wherever else feels best to run to. San Francisco or something like that. He’ll find his sentimental man, and move on, and be all right. But Hux has to do this first. It’s the only option he has.

Ben draws in a breath, bony chest moving under Hux’s hand. When he says Hux’s name this time, it isn’t a question. “Hux.”

So grateful. So glad. So relieved to be waking up in Hux’s arms again.

Hux feels a little sick, but he says he same thing he always says. “Go back to sleep, Ben.”

“I am asleep.” He doesn’t sound asleep, not a bit. He sounds exhausted enough, but he doesn’t sound asleep. “I’m dreaming.”

“What makes you so sure?” Hux asks. He presses his lips to Ben’s shoulder, like he’s trying to prove something. He’s not exactly sure what, though, or who he’s proving it to. 

Ben shivers briefly, presses back into Hux’s arms. “Because,” he says. “You’d never actually touch me like this.” And that. That hurts. The strange, wistful tone of Ben’s voice hurts, too. “You don’t -- You’re not weak. Not like I am.”

“You’re not weak, Ben.” It’s strangely hard to say, Hux’s throat closing up on him unexpectedly as he tries to get the words out. He kisses Ben’s shoulder again, and this time, he knows what he’s proving. “It’s not -- You’re not weak. You’re so strong. You’ve been so strong.”

Ben only sighs. “I want too much,” he says, morosely. “I want… It was supposed to stop. I’m not supposed to want it anymore. He was supposed to --”

Hux squeezes his eyes tight shut and presses his forehead against the nape of Ben’s neck.  _ Snoke. _ Not for the first time, he thinks that there’s an easier way than this. He could do it. He’s ruthless enough. Take a gun from the armory, walk into Snoke’s office, prove exactly what Brendol Hux’s son is capable of.

But he can’t, not while Ben’s here. The others would probably kill him if they caught him, but that’s all right. Ben though. Ben would hate him. And that would be worse.

So he stays where he is, Ben in his arms, and says, “Wanting isn’t weakness.” 

“Easy for you to say,” Ben murmurs, and Hux tenses up. He can’t help it; he just --

He knows what he is, and he knows why he can’t -- But that doesn’t mean he wants to talk about it.

And then Ben says, “Hux,” suddenly guilty, like he knows. “Hux, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -- “

And then he tries to roll over and Hux panics, pushes him back into the mattress with his whole weight on Ben’s body, pinning him there because he  _ knows _ . It’s a delicate thing, this place he’s carved out for them. It only survives because Ben’s not looking at him. Because Ben can’t see. Because he can pretend all he wants that this is a dream as long as their eyes don’t meet. If he turns over now, if they look at each other -- 

“Don’t, Ben,” he says, too sharp, his body too heavy on Ben’s. “Just -- You can’t -- ”

Ben is crying softly again, and Hux wilts, rolling off Ben at once and pulling him back against his chest, reaching up to stroke his damp face. “I’m sorry,” he says, softly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry; I just -- You startled me. I -- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Ben grasps his hand, pulls it back over his chest, pressed to his sternum. “I won’t do it again,” he says, voice shaky. “I won’t -- I promise I won’t. Just… Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Hux promises him, and holds him tight. “I won’t.”

“Please,” Ben says, and then, “I’m so scared, Hux. I’m just -- I’m so scared.”

“I know you are.” Hux slides his leg between Ben’s, presses his forehead to the back of Ben’s neck. “I know.”

“I’m going to fail. If I can’t even stop  _ wanting _ \-- How can I -- And I know what Supreme Leader tells me, and I know it’s true, but I just can’t see how -- If I still want  _ you _ \--”

Hux takes a deep breath, kisses one of the little knobs of Ben’s spine, and imagines Snoke’s face as he raises the gun, imagines pulling the trigger. He wouldn’t have earplugs in, of course, or the big earmuffs. It would be deafening. So loud. He wouldn’t even hear the others running to Snoke’s office. But it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t try to hide from what he’d done. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says, because Ben’s too awake for Hux to say  _ Snoke is a liar and whatever he’s told you is bullshit.  _ “And you won’t fail, Ben. I’ll help you. We’ll do it together. It’ll be all right.”

“We can’t,” Ben says, sadly. “It has to be me. Supreme Leader said I was chosen by God. Your part comes later. This is mine, and mine alone.”

He’s already tried to get out of it, then. Ben’s never enjoyed being singled out, doesn’t need to be told he’s special. Hates it, honestly. If Snoke had to make up some ridiculous lie about Ben being chosen, it was because, for once, Ben begged to be relieved of his duties.

And Ben doesn’t do things like that. Doesn’t hesitate when given a direct order. Whatever Snoke has asked of him, it’s worse than Hux can imagine.

“I’ll still help you,” he says. “Even if it’s just this, for a little while. Being here for you, like this. If it helps, I’ll do it. Anything at all.”

There’s a long, long pause before Ben finally admits, “It does help. You, like this, it… It helps, Hux.”

“Then I’ll stay,” Hux tells him. “For as long as you need me.”

Ben stops sniffling after a while; he softens in Hux’s arms, relaxes. Drifting off again. It’s a little touching, really, how easily Ben does this. Hux doesn’t think Ben would fall asleep so easily in someone else’s arms. He likes that. Having something no one else does. Being trusted when no one else is.

“Anyway,” he says, when he thinks Ben can’t hear him anymore. “I want things. Maybe not… Maybe not the same way other people want. Or maybe not the same things. But I do. I want things. I want a lot of things, actually.” 

Ben doesn’t ask him what he wants. Ben is gone again, sleeping peacefully in Hux’s arms.

Hux sighs and rests his head on the pillow and lets himself drift a little. 

It’s almost over.

He wonders if he’ll miss this, after. 

He thinks, maybe, he just might.

  
  


*

  
  


It’s the last time, and he can’t bring himself to even start. 

He’d been thinking about it, how he’d do it slowly, carefully. How he’d kiss Ben’s neck, like he was thinking of doing the night before. Pet his hair and touch his chest. The way he should have been doing it from the start. The way Ben would’ve wanted him to do it, if Hux had been able to ask. 

But that was before he talked to Snoke and now he can’t even seem to make his hand move from its place on Ben’s bony sternum. Can’t shift his other arm from where it’s slipped under Ben’s shoulders, wrapped around to hold him in place. Can’t lift his head from where he’s pressed it to the knobs of Ben’s spine. Can’t stop himself from shaking.

“There’ll be no turning back for you if you do this,” Snoke told him, and Hux had made himself stand straight and tall, unflinching. “Kylo Ren has already accepted that. For you, I think, it will be harder. Are you sure you’re ready to leave everything behind and follow my will, and only my will?”

It was never Snoke he was following. Always Ben. And he’d hit the point of no return with Ben a long time ago. 

If he fails, if he can’t get Ben to leave…

“Yes,” he’d said, and bowed his head and dropped his eyes, because he meant it. 

Either they both leave or neither of them do. But he can’t leave Ben behind.

“You know the funny thing is it was Snoke’s idea all along,” he says, burying the words between Ben’s shoulder blades. “That I should mentor you. Because I was older, and my dad had run for office so many times, and everything. Take you under my wing, so to speak. I mean, I guess in his defense he didn’t think I’d actually take it seriously. Since I don’t like people really, that much. He just needed someone to bring you to him, and that was me.

“And then I go and fuck it all up by actually  _ liking _ you.” He isn’t laughing, exactly. He doesn’t think he’s crying. It’s something in the middle, hot in his chest and thick in his throat, making his voice wobble and his breath hitch. “Caring about you. Wanting to be your friend. Of all the times for me to develop anything like a heart -- Even when he tried pitting us against each other for his attention, and instead I got upset he was taking you away from me. Of all the bloody cheek. Good job he hasn’t figured that one out yet. Imagine. Him not being the center of someone’s world.

“But I don’t give a damn about Snoke anymore.” The only thing that keeps him from clutching Ben tight enough to give bruises is the fear of waking him, in this worst of moments. “It’s just you. And I’m not giving up on you, Ben. I won’t. I won’t do it. I don’t care what happens. If I can’t stop you -- if you do what he wants you to do -- Or if I have to do it, which I will, Ben. If I have to. I will. Either way. I won’t leave. I won’t go anywhere. Not until I know you’re out and you’re safe. That’s it. That’s the only time I’ll even think about leaving.

“I wish I hadn’t brought you here.” The balance inside him finally shifts; his eyes flood with tears. “I wish -- I thought it was safe. I thought my dad knew, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to us. That this was… I don’t know anymore. I don’t think my dad would want this, killing cops. He was a D.A. He loves cops. I don’t -- I should’ve said something to him. I should’ve… I should’ve known. I should’ve…

“I wish I hadn’t brought you here. This is my fault. It’s all my fault, and I’m sorry, Ben. I’m so --”

The words die in his throat; he can’t push them out anymore. He buries his face in the back of Ben’s thin t-shirt, and he cries.

He feels Ben’s back expanding with a deep breath, hears his name sighed out. “Hux.” And then, “Don’t freak out, okay?” And “My eyes are shut. I promise. They’re shut.”

And he thinks Ben’s just babbling nonsense right up until the moment that Ben shifts, twisting and scooching over until he’s on his back and Hux’s head is resting on his bony chest -- Ben’s chin on the crown of Hux’s head, his hand tangled in Hux’s hair, keeping him firmly in place.

He’s stronger than Hux expects him to be. Always stronger than Hux expects.

“Ben,” he manages, throat still tight, tears still leaking into Ben’s shirt.

“My eyes are closed,” Ben whispers. “I can’t see you. So it’s okay. Hux. It’s okay.”

It isn’t okay. Nothing is okay.

Hux lets Ben hold him anyway, and cries into his shirt until he finally runs out of tears. It takes a while; Ben’s already asleep by then. Hux wishes he could just sleep here, too, but he knows he can’t. 

It’s the last time. Tomorrow, he’ll tell Ben that he spoke to Snoke. He’ll tell Ben that he’ll be waiting to take his place. To relieve him of his burden. He’ll do it all in the clear light of day, so Ben knows it isn’t a dream.

And then he’ll wait and see what Ben does. He probably won’t run immediately, if he runs at all; it’ll take him a few sleepless nights to make his mind up. Hux will want to go to him, but he won’t have a chance. He’ll lay in his own bed, sleepless too. Waiting. Aching. 

This is the last time.

Hux pushes himself up, stares down at Ben’s sleeping face. The giant nose, all the weird little moles. How lopsided his chin is, how his jaw is longer and narrower on the one side and shorter and wider on the other. His mouth is big, too big for his face. His lips seem to have more lines in them than other people’s do, although Hux doesn’t make a habit of staring at lips.

He lean in, and very softly kisses Ben on his oversized mouth. It’s honestly kind of nice. Not thrilling, maybe, but nice.

Or it would be if Hux wasn’t so sure they were on the verge of something truly awful.

He draws back, slips as quietly as he can out of Ben’s bed, and climbs back into his own.

  
  


*

  
  


Two days -- maybe three days, he’s not sure; the sleep deprivation is getting to him -- but two or three days later, he sees Ben heading towards the attic, where he spends all that time with Snoke getting brainwashed. Ben looks at him, right at him. He bites his lower lip, the one Hux kissed two or three days prior. He nods once. And then he keeps moving.

Hux isn’t sure what it means, but he’s terrified.

  
  


*

  
  


“I know you’re awake.”

Ben doesn’t sound sure, though. Honestly, Hux isn’t sure himself. He thinks he actually was sleeping, a little. Doesn’t remember hearing Ben come back from his nightly circuit of the grounds. Doesn’t remember the sound of his footsteps, the jingling of his belt as he undressed, the creaking of the mattress underneath him. He laid down, and then the next thing he knew Ben was hovering over him, long nose grazing his cheek.

He wonders, absently, if this is what it felt like for Ben all those nights. To suddenly have someone else so  _ close _ .

He should be more alarmed than he is. He would be more alarmed if it was anyone but Ben. But he trusts Ben, even when he shouldn’t. There’s something comforting in having him close. 

Hux lays still, and waits.

“I’m going,” Ben tells him, and Hux doesn’t let himself tense, doesn’t open his eyes. If he keeps his eyes closed, if he doesn’t see, it doesn’t have to be real. And Ben can keep pretending he’s not doing this, right up until the moment he realizes he’s too far to turn back. “You said I had to leave first. Well, I’m going. So I hope you meant it. Because you can’t -- It won’t be safe for you to stay, if I’m gone. So you have to go, Hux. As soon as I’m gone. 

“These are Mitaka’s keys.” He slides them under Hux’s limp hand, hard metal warmed by Ben’s tight grip. Hux lets his fingers close around them. “He always leaves them in Snoke’s office. They’ve been there like a week. It’s the white Ford Tempo, near the road. I took a gun from the armory and put it in the glovebox for you, just in case. There’s a little money, too. Even made you a driver’s license. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

“I think you can hear my car from here. I hope you can. As soon as you hear me go, Hux, I want you to leave, too. I won’t turn back. I promise. I… I can’t explain it, but I need you just to know. I made it so I can’t. So you don’t have to wait and see if I come back, because I’m not going to. I promise. So don’t wait, okay? Just… when you hear my car. Go.”

Silence. Hux feels himself shivering, a little. He’s cold, or maybe he’s just scared. It’s hard to say. Ben’s long fingers comb through his hair, soothing him.

Then, finally, Ben lets himself lean in all the way. He presses his lips to Hux’s, the way Hux pressed his lips to Ben’s. He’s crying, a little; Hux feels the dampness on his skin as Ben pulls back. 

“Thank you,” Ben says, finally. “Hux -- Thank you.”

And then he’s gone and Hux lays there, Mitaka’s keys clutched in his hand. Waiting. Shivering. 

It seems to take hours before he finally hears a car start up in the distance, and even then he’s not sure; even then he wonders --

The house creaks, and he panics. Bolts out of bed, grabs for his clothes. Ben was right; of course he was right. If Snoke sees Ben’s gone, and Hux, his spy, knew nothing of it? There’ll be trouble. Hux has to leave.

He makes his way through the house as quickly and as quietly as he can, then sprints across the compound until he’s at the vacant lot that houses the Order’s vehicles. The white Ford Tempo is, as promised, nearest the dirt road that leads to freedom. There’s a 9mm, a box of ammo, an absolutely terrible fake driver’s license, and two twenties in the glove compartment.

And Ben is gone, and Hux will never be able to thank him.

He wipes tears away with the back of his hand, jams the key into the ignition, and starts the engine. 

  
  
  


_Epilogue_

  
  


“Hux?”

It’s been a long time since he’s heard his name turned into a question like that. He tightens his grip around his suitcase, cranes his neck, searches the crowds around the arrivals gate until he sees someone staring back at him. 

He’s heard from a few people that Ben grew his hair out -- it falls to his shoulders, hides his ears from view. He’s almost grown into the nose and the mouth, although they’re still too much for any one man. The moles are all still there. 

He isn’t skinny anymore. He isn’t as pale. He looks --

“Ben,” Hux says, and pushes his way through the crowd until Ben’s right there in front of him. He’s broad, now. Taller than Hux, if only by a little. His eyes aren’t dark-circled. Hux knows, without having to ask, that he doesn’t shiver in his sleep anymore. 

“Hux,” Ben says again, and touches Hux’s cheek with gentle, wondering fingers. Hux doesn’t know what he looked like to Ben in those last days before they fled the First Order. Judging by the expression on Ben’s face, it must’ve been pretty bad.

But it doesn’t matter now. “We made it,” he says, and reaches up and presses his fingertips to Ben’s sternum, a hand over his heart. It never really felt real before today. Phone calls on dark nights, Ben’s breathing in his ear. A place they carved out for themselves, just far enough away from reality that they could pretend nothing had changed. That they were still who they used to be.

But this is real. They are wide awake, the sun is shining, their eyes are open. And all of this is real.

“We made it,” Ben echoes, and his hand settles over Hux’s.

Anyone else would be hugging right now. Hux just stands there with his hand over Ben’s heart and Ben’s hand over his, and realizes all over again that they’re free. That it’s over.

They made it.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone asked me, after the first part of this series, what was going on with Hux. This is what was going on with Hux. I can't say it's exactly what I had in mind, but it's what seems to make the most sense for him. Title comes from "Seamstress" by Dessa, which has been Hux's song for a long time now. You can find it as part of [his spotify playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/user/lookninjas/playlist/7rtLYVKXNIBcVNyskltjyk)


End file.
